The South Pole, Volume 1 by Roald Amundsen

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It was a happy party that assembled in the hut the first evening,
and drank to the future to the music of the gramophone. All the
full-grown dogs were now brought up here, and were fastened to
wire ropes stretched in a square, 50 yards on each side. It may be
believed that they gave us some music. Collected as they were, they
performed under the leadership of some great singer or other daily,
and, what was worse, nightly concerts. Strange beasts! what can they
have meant by this howling? One began, then two, then a few more, and,
finally, the whole hundred. As a rule, during a concert like this they
sit well down, stretch their heads as high in the air as they can,
and howl to their hearts' content. During this act they seem very
preoccupied, and are not easily disturbed. But the strangest thing
is the way the concert comes to an end. It stops suddenly along the
whole line -- no stragglers, no "one cheer more." What is it that
imposes this simultaneous stop? I have observed and studied it time
after time without result. One would think it was a song that had been
learnt. Do these animals possess a power of communicating with each
other? The question is extraordinarily interesting. No one among us,
who has had long acquaintance with Eskimo dogs, doubts that they have
this power. I learned at last to understand their different sounds
so well that I could tell by their voices what was going on without
seeing them. Fighting, play, love-making, etc., each had its special
sound. If they wanted to express their devotion and affection for
their master, they would do it in a quite different way. If one of
them was doing something wrong -- something they knew they were not
allowed to do, such as breaking into a meat-store, for example --
the others, who could not get in, ran out and gave vent to a sound
quite different from those I have mentioned. I believe most of us
learned to distinguish these different sounds. There can hardly be
a more interesting animal to observe, or one that offers greater
variety of study, than the Eskimo dog. From his ancestor the wolf
he has inherited the instinct of self-preservation -- the right of
the stronger -- in a far higher degree than our domestic dog. The
struggle for life has brought him to early maturity, and given him
such qualities as frugality and endurance in an altogether surprising
degree. His intelligence is sharp, clear, and well developed for the
work he is born to, and the conditions in which he is brought up. We
must not call the Eskimo dog slow to learn because he cannot sit up
and take sugar when he is told; these are things so widely separated
from the serious business of his life that he will never be able to
understand them, or only with great difficulty. Among themselves the
right of the stronger is the only law. The strongest rules, and does
as he pleases undisputedly; everything belongs to him. The weaker ones
get the crumbs. Friendship easily springs up between these animals --
always combined with respect and fear of the stronger. The weaker,
with his instinct of self-preservation, seeks the protection of the
stronger. The stronger accepts the position of protector, and thereby
secures a trusty helper, always with the thought of one stronger than
himself. The instinct of self-preservation is to be found everywhere,
and it is so, too, with their relations with man. The dog has learnt to
value man as his benefactor, from whom he receives everything necessary
for his support. Affection and devotion seem also to have their part in
these relations, but no doubt on a closer examination the instinct of
self-preservation is at the root of all. As a consequence of this, his
respect for his master is far greater than in our domestic dog, with
whom respect only exists as a consequence of the fear of a beating. I
could without hesitation take the food out of the mouth of any one
of my twelve dogs; not one of them would attempt to bite me. And
why? Because their respect, as a consequence of the fear of getting
nothing next time, was predominant. With my dogs at home I certainly
should not try the same thing. They would at once defend their food,
and, if necessary, they would not shrink from using their teeth; and
this in spite of the fact that these dogs have to all appearance the
same respect as the others. What, then, is the reason? It is that
this respect is not based on a serious foundation -- the instinct
of self-preservation -- but simply on the fear of a hiding. A case
like this proves that the foundation is too weak; the desire of food
overcomes the fear of the stick, and the result is a snap.

A few days later the last member of the wintering party -- Adolf Henrik
Lindstrom -- joined us, and with his arrival our arrangements might be
regarded as complete. He had stayed on board hitherto, attending to
the cooking there, but now he was no longer necessary. His art would
be more appreciated among the "chatterers." The youngest member of
the expedition -- the cook Karinius Olsen -- took over from that day
the whole of the cooking on the Fram, and performed this work in an
extremely conscientious and capable way until the ship reached Hobart
in March, 1912, when he again had assistance. This was well done for
a lad of twenty. I wish we had many like him.

With Lindstrom, then, the kitchen and the daily bread were in
order. The smoke rose gaily from the shining black chimney, and
proclaimed that now the Barrier was really inhabited. How cosy it was,
when we came sledging up after the day's work, to see that smoke rising
into the air. It is a little thing really, but nevertheless it means
so much. With Lindstrom came not only food, but light and air -- both
of them his specialities. The Lux lamp was the first thing he rigged
up, giving us a light that contributed much to the feeling of comfort
and well-being through the long winter. He also provided us with air,
but in this he had Stubberud as a partner. These two together managed
to give us the finest, purest Barrier air in our room during the whole
stay. It is true that this was not done without hard work, but they did
not mind that. The ventilation was capricious, and liable to fail now
and then. This usually happened when there was a dead calm. Many were
the ingenious devices employed by the firm to set the business going
again. Generally a Primus stove was used under the exhaust pipe, and
ice applied to the supply pipe. While one of them lay on his stomach
with the Primus under the exhaust, drawing the air up that way,
the other ran up to the roof and dropped big lumps of snow down the
supply to get the air in that way. In this fashion they could keep it
going by the hour together without giving up. It finally ended in the
ventilation becoming active again without visible cause. There is no
doubt that the system of ventilation in a winter-station like ours
is of great importance, both to health and comfort. I have read of
expeditions, the members of which were constantly suffering from cold
and damp and resulting sickness. This is nothing but a consequence
of bad ventilation. If the supply of fresh air is sufficient, the
fuel will be turned to better account, and the production of warmth
will, of course, be greater. If the supply of air is insufficient,
a great part of the fuel will be lost in an unconsumed state, and
cold and damp will be the result. There must, of course, be a means
of regulating the ventilation in accordance with requirements. We
used only the Lux lamp in our hut, besides the stove in the kitchen,
and with this we kept our room so warm that those of us in the upper
berths were constantly complaining of the warmth.

Originally there were places for ten bunks in the room, but as
there were only nine of us, one of the bunks was removed and the
space used for our chronometer locker. This contained three ordinary
ship's chronometers. We had, in addition, six chronometer watches,
which we wore continually, and which were compared throughout the
whole winter. The meteorological instruments found a place in the
kitchen -- the only place we had for them. Lindstrom undertook the
position of sub-director of the Framheim meteorological station and
instrument-maker to the expedition. Under the roof were stowed all the
things that would not stand severe frost, such as medicines, syrup,
jam, cream, pickles, and sauces, besides all our sledge-boxes. A
place was also made for the library under the roof.

The week beginning on Monday, January 30, was spent in bringing
up coal, wood, oil, and our whole supply of dried fish. The
temperature this summer varied between +5deg. and -13deg.F. -- a grand
summer temperature. We also shot many seals daily, and we already
had a great pile of about a hundred of them lying just outside the
door of the hut. One evening as we were sitting at supper Lindstrom
came in to tell us that we need not go down any more to the sea-ice
to shoot them, as they were coming up to us. We went out and found
he was right. Not far away, and making straight for the hut, came
a crab-eater, shining like silver in the sun. He came right up,
was photographed, and -- shot.

One day I had a rather curious experience. My best dog, Lassesen, had
his left hind-paw frozen quite white. It happened while we were all out
sledging. Lassesen was a lover of freedom, and had seen his chance of
getting loose when unobserved. He used his freedom, like most of these
dogs, for fighting. They love fighting, and cannot resist it. He had
picked a quarrel with Odin and Thor, and started a battle with them. In
the course of the fight the chains that fastened these two had got
wound round Lassesen's leg, and twisted so that the circulation was
stopped. How long he had been standing so I do not know. But when I
came, I saw at once that the dog was in the wrong place. On a closer
examination I discovered the frost-bite. I then spent half an hour in
restoring the circulation. I succeeded in doing this by holding the
paw continuously in my warm hand. At first, while there was no feeling
in the limb, it went well; but when the blood began to flow back,
of course it was painful, and Lassesen became impatient. He whined,
and motioned with his head towards the affected place, as though he
wanted to tell me that he found the operation unpleasant. He made no
attempt to snap. The paw swelled a good deal after this treatment,
but next day Lassesen was as well as ever, though a little lame in
that leg.

The entries in my diary at this time are all in telegraphic style,
no doubt owing to the amount of work. Thus an entry in February ends
with the following words: "An Emperor penguin just come on a visit --
soup-kettle." He did not get a very long epitaph.

During this week we relieved the sea party of the last of the dogs
-- about twenty puppies. There was rejoicing on board when the last
of them left the deck, and, indeed, one could not be surprised. With
the thermometer about -5deg.F., as it had been lately, it was impossible
to keep the deck clean, as everything froze at once. After they had
all been brought on to the ice, the crew went to work with salt and
water, and in a short time we recognized the Fram again. The puppies
were put into boxes and driven up. We had put up a sixteen-man tent
to receive them. From the very first moment they declined to stay in
it, and there was nothing to be done but to let them out. All these
puppies passed a great part of the winter in the open air. So long
as the seals' carcasses were lying on the slope, they stayed there;
afterwards they found another place. But the tent, despised by the
youngsters, came in useful after all. Any bitch that was going to
have a litter was put in there, and the tent went by the name of
"the maternity hospital." Then one tent after another was put up, and
Framheim looked quite an important place. Eight of the sixteen-man
tents were set up for our eight teams, two for dried fish, one for
fresh meat, one for cases of provisions, and one for coal and wood --
fourteen altogether. They were arranged according to a plan drawn up
beforehand, and when they were all up they had quite the appearance
of a camp.

At this time our dog-harness underwent important alterations, as one
of the members of the expedition had the happy idea of combining
the Alaska and the Greenland harness. The result satisfied all
requirements; in future we always used this construction, and we all
agreed that it was much superior to any other harness. The dogs also
seemed to be more comfortable in it. That they worked better and more
easily is certain, and raw places, so common with Greenland harness,
were absolutely unknown.

February 4 was an eventful day. As usual, we all came down to the
Fram, driving our empty sledges, at half-past six in the morning. When
the first man got to the top of the ridge, he began to wave his arms
about and gesticulate like a madman. I understood, of course, that
he saw something, but what? The next man gesticulated even worse,
and tried to shout to me. But it was no use; I could not make anything
of it. Then it was my turn to go over the ridge, and, as was natural,
I began to feel rather curious. I had only a few yards more to go --
and then it was explained. Along the edge of the ice, just to the
south of the Fram, a large barque lay moored. We had talked of the
possibility of meeting the Terra Nova -- Captain Scott's vessel --
when she was on her way to King Edward VII. Land; but it was a great
surprise all the same. Now it was my turn to wave my arms, and I am
sure I did it no worse than the two first. And the same thing was
repeated with all of us, as soon as each one reached the top of the
ridge. What the last man did I have never been able to find out for
certain -- but no doubt he waved his arms too. If a stranger had stood
and watched us that morning on the ridge, he would surely have taken
us for a lot of incurable lunatics. The way seemed long that day,
but at last we got there and heard the full explanation. The Terra
Nova had come in at midnight. Our watchman had just gone below for
a cup of coffee -- there was no harm in that -- and when he came up
again, there was another ship lying off the foot of the Barrier. He
rubbed his eyes, pinched his leg, and tried other means of convincing
himself that he was asleep, but it was no good. The pinch especially,
he told us afterwards, was horribly painful, and all this led him to
the conclusion that there really was a second vessel there.

Lieutenant Campbell, the leader of the eastern party, which was
to explore King Edward VII. Land, came on board first, and paid
Nilsen a visit. He brought the news that they had not been able to
reach land, and were now on their way back to McMurdo Sound. From
thence it was their intention to go to Cape North and explore the
land there. Immediately after my arrival Lieutenant Campbell came on
board again and gave me the news himself.

We then loaded our sledges and drove home. At nine o'clock we had the
great pleasure of receiving Lieutenant Pennell, the commander of the
Terra Nova, Lieutenant Campbell, and the surgeon of the expedition, as
the first guests in our new home. We spent a couple of very agreeable
hours together. Later in the day three of us paid a visit to the Terra
Nova, and stayed on board to lunch. Our hosts were extremely kind,
and offered to take our mail to New Zealand. If I had had time,
I should have been glad to avail myself of this friendly offer,
but every hour was precious. It was no use to think of writing now.

At two o'clock in the afternoon the Terra Nova cast off again,
and left the Bay of Whales. We made a strange discovery after this
visit. Nearly all of us had caught cold. It did not last long -- only
a few hours -- and then it was over. The form it took was sneezing
and cold in the head.

The next day -- Sunday, February 5 -- the "sea rovers," as we
called the Fram party, were our guests. We had to have them in
two detachments, as they could not all leave the ship at the same
time. Four came to dinner and six to supper. We had not much to offer,
but we invited them, not so much for the sake of the entertainment
as to show them our new home and wish them a successful voyage.

CHAPTER VI

Depot Journeys

There was now too little work for eight of us in bringing up stores
from the Fram, and it became evident that some of us might be more
usefully employed elsewhere. It was therefore decided that four
men should bring ashore the little that remained, while the other
four went southward to lat. 80deg. S., partly to explore the immediate
neighbourhood, and partly to begin the transport of provisions to the
south. This arrangement gave us all enough to do. The four who were
to continue the work at the station -- Wisting, Hassel, Stubberud,
and Bjaaland -- now had as much as their sledges could carry. The
rest of us were busy getting ready. For that matter, everything was
prepared in advance, but as yet we had had no experience of a long
journey. That was what we were going to get now.

Our departure was fixed for Friday, February 10. On the 9th I went on
board to say good-bye, as presumably the Fram would have sailed when
we came back. I had so much to thank all these plucky fellows for. I
knew it was hard for all of them -- almost without exception -- to
have to leave us now, at the most interesting time, and go out to sea
to battle for months with cold and darkness, ice and storms, and then
have the same voyage over again the next year when they came to fetch
us. It was certainly a hard task, but none of them complained. They
had all promised to do their best to promote our common object,
and therefore all went about their duty without grumbling. I left
written orders with the commander of the Fram, Captain Nilsen. The
substance of these orders may be given in a few words: Carry out
our plan in the way you may think best. I knew the man I was giving
orders to. A more capable and honourable second in command I could
never have had. I knew that the Fram was safe in his hands.

Lieutenant Prestrud and I made a trip to the south to find a suitable
place for ascending the Barrier on the other side of the bay. The
sea-ice was fairly even for this distance; only a few cracks here
and there. Farther up the bay there were, curiously enough, long
rows of old hummocks. What could this mean? This part was really
quite protected from the sea, so that these formations could not
be attributed to its action. We hoped to have an opportunity of
investigating the conditions more closely later on; there was no time
for it now. The shortest and most direct way to the south was the one
we were on now. The bay was not wide here. The distance from Framheim
to this part of the Barrier was about three miles. The ascent of the
Barrier was not difficult; with the exception of a few fissures it
was quite easy. It did not take long to get up, except perhaps in
the steepest part. The height was 60 feet. It was quite exciting to
go up; what should we see at the top? We had never yet had a real
uninterrupted view over the Barrier to the south; this was the first
time. As it happened, we were not surprised at what we saw when we got
up -- an endless plain, that was lost in the horizon on the extreme
south. Our course, we could see, would take us just along the side of
the ridge before mentioned -- a capital mark for later journeys. The
going was excellent; a thin layer of conveniently loose snow was spread
over a hard under-surface, and made it very suitable for skiing. The
lie of the ground told us at once that we had the right pattern of ski
-- the kind for level ground, long and narrow. We had found what we
wanted -- an ascent for our southern journeys and an open road. This
spot was afterwards marked with a flag, and went by the name of "the
starting-place." On the way back, as on the way out, we passed large
herds of seals, lying asleep. They did not take the least notice
of us. If we went up and woke them, they just raised their heads a
little, looked at us for a moment, and then rolled over on the other
side and went to sleep again. It was very evident that these animals
here on the ice have no enemies. They would certainly have set a watch,
as their brothers in the North do, if they had had anything to fear.

On this day we used skin clothing for the first time -- reindeer-skin
clothes of Eskimo cut -- but they proved to be too warm. We had the
same experience later. In low temperatures these reindeer clothes are
beyond comparison the best, but here in the South we did not as a rule
have low temperatures on our sledge journeys. On the few occasions
when we experienced any cold worth talking about, we were always
in skins. When we returned in the evening after our reconnoitring,
we had no need of a Turkish bath.

On February 10, at 9.30 a.m., the first expedition left for the
South. We were four men, with three sledges and eighteen dogs, six
for each sledge. The load amounted to about 550 pounds of provisions
per sledge, besides the provisions and outfit for the journey. We
could not tell, even approximately, how long the journey would take,
as everything was unknown. The chief thing we took on our sledges
was dogs' pemmican for the depot, 350 pounds per sledge. We also
took a quantity of seal meat cut into steaks, blubber, dried fish,
chocolate, margarine, and biscuits. We had ten long bamboo poles,
with black flags, to mark the way. The rest of our outfit consisted
of two three-man tents, four one-man sleeping-bags, and the necessary
cooking utensils.

The dogs were very willing, and we left Framheim at full gallop. Along
the Barrier we went well. Going down to the sea-ice we had to pass
through a number of big hummocks -- a fairly rough surface. Nor
was this without consequences; first one sledge, then another, swung
round. But no harm was done; we got our gear tested, and that is always
an advantage. We also had to pass rather near several large groups of
seals, and the temptation was too great. Away went the dogs to one side
in full gallop towards the seals. But this time the load was heavy,
and they were soon tired of the extra work. In the bay we were in sight
of the Fram. The ice had now given way entirely, so that she lay close
to the Barrier itself. Our four comrades, who were to stay at home,
accompanied us. In the first place, they wanted to see us on our way,
and in the second, they would be able to lend us a hand in getting
up the Barrier, for we were rather apprehensive that it would cost
us a wet shirt. Finally, they were to hunt seals. There was plenty
of opportunity here; where-ever one looked there were seals -- fat
heavy beasts.

I had put the home party under Wisting's command, and given them
enough work to do. They were to bring up the remainder of the stores
from the ship, and to build a large, roomy pent-house against the
western wall of the hut, so that we should not have to go directly
on to the ice from the kitchen. We also intended to use this as a
carpenter's workshop. But they were not to forget the seal-hunting,
early and late. It was important to us to get seals enough to enable
us all, men and dogs, to live in plenty. And there were enough to
be had. If we ran short of fresh meat in the course of the winter,
it would be entirely our own fault.

It was a good thing we had help for the climb. Short as it was,
it caused us a good deal of trouble; but we had dogs enough, and by
harnessing a sufficient number we got the sledges up. I should like
to know what they thought on board. They could see we were already
hard put to it to get up here. What would it be like when we had to
get on to the plateau? I do not know whether they thought of the old
saying: Practice makes perfect.

We halted at the starting-place, where we were to separate from
our comrades. None of us was particularly sentimental. An honest
shake of the hand, and so "Good-bye." The order of our march was as
follows: Prestrud first on ski, to show the direction and encourage
the dogs. We always went better with someone going in front. Next
came Helmer Hanssen. He kept this place on all our journeys -- the
leading sledge. I knew him well from our previous work together,
and regarded him as the most efficient dog-driver I had met. He
carried the standard compass on his sledge and checked Prestrud's
direction. After him came Johansen, also with a compass. Lastly,
I came, with sledge-meter and compass. I preferred to take the last
sledge because it enabled me to see what was happening. However careful
one may be, it is impossible to avoid dropping things from sledges
in making a journey. If the last man keeps a lookout for such things,
great inconvenience may often be avoided. I could mention many rather
important things that were dropped in the course of our journeys and
picked up again by the last man. The hardest work, of course, falls on
the first man. He has to open up the road and drive his dogs forward,
while we others have only to follow. All honour, then, to the man who
performed this task from the first day to the last -- Helmer Hanssen.

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